| This town is full of guys who think they’re mighty wise | 
| Just because they know a thing or two | 
| You can see them every day, strolling up and down Broadway | 
| Telling of the wonders they can do | 
| You’ll see wise guys and boosters | 
| Card sharps and crap shooters | 
| They congregate around the Metropole | 
| They wear those flashy ties and collars | 
| But where they get their dollars | 
| They’ve all got an ace down in the hole | 
| Some of them write to the old folks for coin | 
| That’s their ace in the hole | 
| Others have girls on that old tenderloin | 
| That’s their ace in the hole | 
| They’ll tell you of trips they are going to take | 
| From Frisco up to the North Pole | 
| But they’d end up on that line, in their clothes not a dime | 
| If they lost that old ace in the hole | 
| Wherever you might stray, along the Great White Way | 
| They’ll corner you and start in telling lies | 
| Of oil wells in Nebraska and gold mines in Alaska | 
| You’ll be immersed in bullshit to your eyes | 
| But every hustler knows | 
| Bullshit buys no clothes | 
| And only cold cash keeps you off the dole | 
| So some of them wash dishes | 
| And some of them are snitches | 
| But all of them have aces in the hole | 
| Drifters who dwell on that slippery slope | 
| Grifters who jump their parole | 
| Trying to sell bags of catnip for dope | 
| That’s their ace in the hole | 
| They’ll tell you of money they’ve made and they’ve spent | 
| And flash a Missouri bankroll | 
| But their names would be mud | 
| Like a chump dealing stud | 
| If they lost that old ace in the hole |